Deliverance
by piaffe417
Summary: Bobby Goren can tell you all of the dictionary definitions for the word "deliver," but only Alex Eames can tell you what it really means. COMPLETE
1. Alex

Author's Note: In this story, I'm fast-forwarding to next season (or at least next year in the lives of Goren and Eames) when Alex's niece/nephew turns one year old. Spoilers for "F.P.S." (You'll notice in this story that I do not make reference as to the sex of the baby. I leave that to your imagination.) And, since I haven't disclaimed in a while, here goes: I don't own any of these characters and don't pretend to. They belong to Rene Balcer, Kathryn Erbe, Vincent D'Onofrio (a very large and potentially scary man), and Dick Wolf (a man with very large and potentially scary lawyers).

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ALEX

It usually doesn't work this way. It usually isn't her that makes the call in the late evening hours looking for a connection, for a friend. Usually it's the other way around – he calls her and she answers, fully prepared to hear his anxious voice on the other end. He's always eager to share an insight, ask a question that just couldn't wait until morning, or reaffirm that no matter what else is happening, someone is there for him.

But tonight the tables have turned. Tonight it's his phone that rings as he takes the first sip of his second beer at O'Malley's Tavern, this action performed in the midst of a good-natured ribbing from his friend Lewis for the attention he's receiving from a curvy brunette seated in the corner.

Alex obviously doesn't know where he is or what he's doing (though, well acquainted with his routines, she could probably offer an accurate guess if she were to be asked). Nor does she know exactly what she's doing – or what she's calling to say for that matter. She doesn't even remember dialing his number when she went into the kitchen to boil water for tea. All she knows is that the voice on the other end of the line, a voice that has, over the years, become almost as familiar to her as her own, knows the sharp pang of loss. This voice knows the frustration that accompanies stifling one's true emotions in order to spare the pain of another and the world of pain and confusion that accompanies said suppression. This voice also knows the fear of being unable to move past the present state of being into a future that is predicted to be brighter but comes with no guarantees.

He answers characteristically and from habit, though she knows the caller ID on his phone display has already revealed her identity to him.

"Goren."

"Bobby?" The word is out before she thinks it in her mind, her lips forming it reflexively as a plea and usurping any chance she had at beginning a casual conversation. To add, "Hey it's me. Have you…?" now would be fruitless because he has already recognized that something is amiss. Perception is Bobby's middle name.

"Eames, what's wrong?" he demands, his own tone switching automatically from one of jovial greeting to one of concern and also of fear – for her and for himself. He relies on her to be the lightning rod in their relationship, the one with the power to ground them both. He doesn't like to be the strong one - the one picking up the pieces - for fear that he might miss one, that he might fail and lose them both in the process. She has never let him down and his ultimate fear is being unable to return the favor. But she has called him tonight because she knows that he can – and that he will. Though he will never acknowledge the responsibility aloud, Bobby is her touchstone in the same way that she is his. She doesn't want answers from him – she can't even verbalize the questions anyway – but rather she seeks whatever absolution he can give her, even if it's only a few words spoken with beer-soured breath.

When she opens her mouth to respond to him, the self-protective part of her mind won't let her speak the truth, so she instead settles for an empty phrase: "I don't know." She gives a short, affected laugh and adds, "I don't even remember calling you – but here I am."

Even without seeing him, she knows the wheels have begun to turn in his head – she can almost hear the grinding creak through the phone and see his dark brows knit in deep thought. After a moment, he asks, "How was the party?"

She inhales sharply at his unfailing ability to uncover the very heart of a person's motivation in a mere four words. He doesn't beat around the bush -and what's more, though she once accused him of assuming that she didn't pay attention when he talked, she now sees that the same is true in reverse. He listens better than she gives him credit for – he listens and he understands on a higher level than anyone she's ever met.

"It was okay," she replies when she recovers her ability to speak.

He sighs and she can hear his nod on the other end, a nod of understanding. "Birthday cake and the whole nine yards?"

He knows the reason she's struggling tonight but he's giving her a chance to talk around it, to pretend for a moment that they're having a normal conversation and that she isn't grappling with feelings that she's managed to hide from him and from herself for an entire year. Whether he's avoiding the truth to shield himself from any request she might make of him or to help her focus her thoughts and words, she isn't sure. All she knows is that it's an out that she takes gratefully, her voice growing lighter for a moment as she takes on her characteristic dry tone of delivery.

"Yep – complete with the prerequisite first birthday 'fist in the cake' photo op. I'll have to get you a copy."

"Sounds like fun."

"Yeah."

"Bet your parents loved it."

"Of course they did – they're born grandparents."

"And your sister too."

"She hasn't come down from cloud nine in a year. Today I think she might have even made it to cloud ten."

He pauses. "Sounds like a big day."

"Yeah," she says softly. She sighs. "Look, Bobby, I'm sorry I bothered you. Go back to whatever – or whoever - you and Lewis were talking about."

"Okay," he doesn't press for more information about the party or how she's doing and seems – as always – briefly astounded at how well she knows him. Tonight, however, that feeling is mutual.

"Oh, and Bobby?" she adds as an afterthought. She knows it will sound weak here, but she means what she's about to say. Just hearing his voice has helped her to rebalance.

"Huh?"

"Thanks."

She can hear him nod again. "You're welcome. Good night."


	2. Bobby

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BOBBY

She's floundering and she has been for the last week or so. He's seen all of the signs – the distant look she's gotten while going over her paperwork, the distracted tone of voice she's used in some of their conversations – so he's been dreading this phone call and praying that it wouldn't come. In all truth, this day has been on Bobby's mind for a while, though. Not only is it a birthday, but it's also an anniversary of sorts for him. It was one year ago today that he realized the value of partnership – true partnership – and one year ago today that he fully accepted the fact that in the entire world, there is only one person whom he will ever consider to be his partner.

Her name is Alex Eames – and tonight, she needs him.

He takes one last swig of beer, makes an excuse to Lewis (who, schoolboy crush firmly in place despite the number of times she's turned him down, sends a greeting of "Hi, beautiful" to Alex), and grabs his jacket from the barstool beside him. On his way out the door, he notices the brunette eyeing him with something akin to disappointment but he can only offer a small smile of apology as he passes by. Right now another woman has consumed his thoughts and he quickly hails a cab, giving the driver her address and, settling his lanky frame into the cramped seat, he begins to think.

The dictionary defines the word "deliver" as many things, including: "to bring or transport to the proper place or recipient, to surrender (someone or something) to another, hand over; to give birth to; to set free, as from misery, peril." Therefore Bobby (who loves duplicitous words – even more so when they're multiplicitous) has labeled today as "Delivery Day." It isn't marked on his calendar, but it is forever etched in his mind.

Alex had a baby one year ago today – her sister's baby that she had carried for nine months as a surrogate mother. Alex had a baby and gave it away all in the same day and when Bobby went to see her in the hospital that evening, she had never looked so small in all the time he'd known her. A petite woman already – especially next to his bulky six-foot four-inches – she always seemed much larger to him, though not due to her physical stature, but rather her personality. Alex could fill up a room if she wanted to and he usually found that (for him anyway) she did. He'd never felt truly smart until she'd approved one of his off-the-wall theories and now it seemed to him that none of his ideas were good unless she said they were. The case he'd just completed had dealt with a very similar relationship and he'd recognized a lot of himself in the man he'd just sent to jail for murder. The desperate yearning for the approval of the one person who seemed to make everything in the world make sense could drive a person to kill and Bobby had understood that feeling, enough so that he had never before been so eager to see his own partner.

But when he'd entered her room that night, he saw a different woman before him. Alex couldn't fill the bed that engulfed her, much less the stark white hospital room she sat in, and the vision of her looking so tiny had quelled any hope he'd had of commiserating with her on the case, of sharing his insights in order to see her nod of total understanding.

This Alex was someone Bobby had never seen before.

That night – Delivery Night – she'd greeted him with a soft, "Hey, Bobby" and tired half-smile that seemed more put on than genuine. Her face was wan and she seemed completely enveloped in the wealth of cards, balloons, and flowers from well wishers and friends that surrounded her. There was a huge bouquet of daisies from the Deakinses, a wild-looking floral arrangement from the Carvers, and even a neat basket of orange and yellow flowers from the Chief of Detectives. Yet in the middle of the cacophony of color and brightness sat Alex, silent and pale.

In utter contrast, her family members greeted Bobby with booming hellos and firm handshakes, rising from the seats they occupied around her room to step over and welcome him inside.

Her father beamed and held their handshake longer than was necessary. "Come to see our Ally, have you? She's a real class act, I tell you, Bobby. A real class act."

Her mother, instead of saying hello, chided him in her usual fashion, saying, "Robert, have you been getting enough sleep?"

She always called him Robert, never Bobby, saying that Bobby was a nickname for a little boy and it was undignified for a grown man. Bobby always let her do it without protest, despite the fact that he hated the formality of it, because it was something that his own mother tended to do on her good days and the maternal way Mrs. Eames spoke his name was comforting and warm. (He also allowed it because it never failed to elicit an amused roll of the eyes from Alex, a reaction that was always worth a little discomfort on his part.)

Also excited, Alex's sister – petite like Alex but with none of the fire that made his partner so formidable - had immediately encouraged him to come and see the new baby in the hospital nursery: "We're all on the way there right now to take some more pictures. Want to come along?"

He'd mumbled something about going down later and Alex's father had immediately sprung to his rescue, saying, "Come on, everyone. Let's let Ally and Bobby catch up for a minute, okay?"

He'd ushered everyone out, leaving the room suddenly stark and silent, and Bobby had awkwardly taken a seat by his partner's bedside, trying not to look as though he wasn't scrutinizing the features of her face and her expression in order to gauge her state of mind. It was a habit he'd developed on the job and had become a reflex, but in this case he was making a conscious effort because he was worried about her. True to his nature, he'd made a thorough study of statistics and psychological studies concerning surrogacy as soon as he'd learned of her plan and he knew about the emotional upheaval it usually caused for the women who carried the babies. It seemed completely unfair that, the very moment the baby became a real living and breathing entity, it was handed over to its "true" mother, the one who would enjoy all of the ups and downs associated with parenting. The surrogate mother – the vessel, as it were – received a generous thank you and a pat on the back as she was sent on her way.

Further, in Alex's case, it would be worse, he knew – this baby was a part of her family and Alex would have to witness and participate in the molding of a young life. Every Christmas, every birthday, graduation – she would have to buy a present, make an appearance, and pretend that she was merely the doting aunt, that she hadn't given up nine months of her life to allow that very child to exist in the first place. Bobby couldn't even begin to imagine how that knowledge was effecting his partner – and the unknown was always a frightening idea, especially for a man who liked to have all of the answers available at his fingertips.

That night, he had no answers, only a lot of questions.

Alex hadn't met his eyes since her soft greeting and he sensed that she was feeling awkward too. They hadn't seen each other since she'd gone on leave and their rapport seemed out of sync.

Of course, it didn't help that the very topic that was at the forefront of both of their minds was the one neither really wanted to discuss.

"You feeling okay?" he'd finally asked. It was a natural question in such a situation so he figured it was a safe one.

Her eyes swung to meet his. "Exhausted, but other than that, yeah. I'm okay."

"The delivery went okay?" he'd asked, hollow and trying not to sound as though he was pushing her for more information than she wanted to give.

"As well as can be expected when you push something the size of a Buick through an opening the size of a pinhole," she'd replied sarcastically, never failing to seize an opportunity to make him uncomfortable. Bobby knew that his partner loved nothing more than when she was able to pull the rug out from under him, if only for a split second. It kept their partnership in balance and on that particular night it gave him a small measure of comfort despite his embarrassment. The Alex he knew was still there inside the shell of a woman before him and that knowledge helped.

Feeling his face flush, it had taken him a moment to recover and in that time he'd observed a ghost of a smile flee across her features. Whatever she was feeling now that she'd turned the baby's care over to her sister, she obviously didn't want it to become a part of their relationship. It was a private feeling she was choosing to keep to herself.

"They letting you go home tomorrow?" he'd finally asked when he recovered his poise.

"Mm-hmm," she'd nodded, then seemed to catch herself in a thought because she'd immediately taken charge of the conversation, steering it to their characteristic conversational topic: work. "Hey, weren't you and Bishop in the middle of a case the last time I checked?"

"Yeah," he'd replied, feeling as though she'd verbally put her hand on his chest and gently pushed him away from her. Having done the very same thing to her in the past when cases had hit too close to home for him, Bobby now knew what it felt like to stand on the other side and he couldn't help but wince from the sting of it.

"And Deakins just let you come down here?" she'd quirked an eyebrow at him. The old Alex was slowly taking shape before his eyes.

He shook his head. "No, we made the arrest this afternoon. Bishop's working on the paperwork right now."

"Let me guess, you pulled the old 'my partner just had a baby so can you wrap this up for me?' routine on her," Alex had put in wryly. Her voice had returned to normal but still held some distance between them.

"Hey she said she'd do it," he'd mock argued, floundering in his attempt to make sense of all of the feelings floating around inside of him. Was he glad to be off the hook emotionally or upset that she didn't seem to trust him enough to let him in? He couldn't decide.

In the meantime, he gave a pause for effect, then added, "I just didn't put up a fight when she volunteered."

She'd smiled then, another tired smile that didn't reach her eyes but in that smile Bobby had realized something that eased his confusion: not only was she keeping her true feelings concerning the baby from Bobby and from her family, but she was also keeping them from herself. Stubborn to the tips of her toes, she was determined to distance herself in the hopes that once she was far enough away from them they wouldn't hurt as much, that she could forget that she had given up a piece of herself in order to give a child to her sister.

It was enough to drop the strongest of people to their knees.

That night – Delivery Night – his partner had given Bobby the easy way out and he'd taken it. She'd pushed him away from any feelings she might have about giving her sister a child and he'd been more than willing to back away. Tonight he doesn't think he'll be that lucky, though, but what's more, he doesn't think he wants to take the easy way if she offers it. After all, a partnership is fifty-fifty and she's always come through for him. Mr. Fix-It he is not, but he's going to try his best and pray that all of the pieces come together in the end. He owes her that much.


	3. Alex

Spoiler Alert: "The Third Horseman," "F.P.S."

_ALEX_

He's outside her door. She somehow knew he would be – expected it, actually - and at the same time dreaded his arrival. In between hanging up the phone and silently berating herself for calling him in the first place, she's decided that she isn't in the mood for his probing line of questioning tonight, nor is she prepared to shield herself from those dark eyes that see so much and assess situations so quickly. On the other hand, there's something comforting about his presence, something about the way he never fails to make her feel protected, that lends itself well to her current state of mind.

Ultimately (after momentarily wondering whether or not he'd believe that she isn't home and realizing such a ruse would be futile and rude), she decides to let him in.

Yet as she pads to the door in her stocking feet, steaming mug of tea in hand, she again curses herself inwardly for picking up the phone. If she hadn't done that, she could wallow in her feelings alone tonight and maybe with a little luck push them away again. Now that he's here, she doesn't stand a chance.

His looks slightly sheepish as she opens the door, but when his eyes light on her she sees a ripple of relief run through his body. He hasn't just come to reassure her, she knows, he's come to reassure himself as well and the fact that she's answered the door and looks (apparently) not too much the worse for wear has given him hope that things will be all right.

"Hi," is all he offers in greeting. His hands are clasped behind his back and he looks down to the floor after greeting her, a display of his typical nonconfrontational behavior – an awkward stance that always stands out in stark contrast from his often hard-nosed interrogation room tactics.

"Bobby, you didn't have to come," she responds. "I'm okay – really."

"I was in the neighborhood," he shrugs and, though hollow and cliched, his words and convincing physical gestures would fool most people – _most _people, but not his partner. She knows he's worried and here to check up on her.

And why wouldn't he be? After all, she _did_ call him.

Feeling contrary, she comes back with: "That's funny – usually you and Lewis go to O'Malley's. That's practically on the other side of town."

He blinks to acknowledge that he's been caught, but true to his nature is quick to defuse the situation, "We do – but Lewis wanted me to deliver a message to you."

She relents with a roll of her eyes. "Will he never learn?"

She steps back from the door and lets him enter her apartment, walking over to curl into a corner of the couch, her feet beneath her and the mug warm in her hands. She's glad he's here, she realizes. With him in the room, her apartment is no longer so achingly empty and the stillness has been shattered – yet he hasn't spoken more than a few words. He doesn't need to, though. He's Bobby Goren. Alex has yet to meet the person who possesses a louder presence than that of her partner and she knows that they can even sit in complete silence and Bobby can keep the quiet at bay simply by being. There's a certain restless quality about him that never lets her forget he's nearby – and tonight she's grateful for it.

He hangs his jacket neatly beside hers on the coat rack and gives a white grin and shake of his head as he moves into the room. "What can I say? Lewis has a weak spot for women who know cars. He's smitten."

"I can think of another term for it," she responds dryly, taking a sip of tea.

Another gleaming grin as Bobby seats himself at the other end of the couch and faces her. He stretches his long legs out to get comfortable and a bit of silence ensues before Alex thinks to ask, "Did you want some tea? I can make coffee too if you'd rather."

He shakes his head. "No thanks."

He's trying not to stare at her, not to analyze her expression for data that will clue him in to her state of mind, but he's doing a lousy job. She can feel the weight of his gaze on her skin and she looks away from him, watching the steam rise from her cup. Despite the comfortable quiet in which they sit, Alex feels her mind begin to race. She called him and he's here – now what? Is she supposed to pour her heart out to him? Is she supposed to express the feelings that have surfaced today, feelings that she can't even put into words and explain to herself, let alone another person? Is she supposed to break down and cry?

Alex Eames doesn't do those kinds of things.

Even in the hospital right after the baby was born, the first feeling that came over her was relief. She'd done it – she'd successfully made her sister a mother and she had been able to have her job and live her life in the process. Her parents, her sister, and her brother-in-law had never been happier and for a brief and shining second, neither had Alex. The baby was perfect – ten fingers, ten toes, a dusting of fuzzy hair, and the spitting image of all of the Eameses.

And then the nurse had handed that beautiful, screaming, red little bundle right over Alex's head and into the arms of her sister and Alex had felt the first hole being punched in her euphoric bubble. There were the tiny feet that had kicked her in the ribs for the last several months at all hours of the day and night. There were the miniscule hands that had occasionally made themselves visible from the inside of her protruding belly and the face that she'd seen on the 3-D ultrasound that she hadn't wanted but her sister had insisted on.

And all of those pieces now belonged to someone else. In fact, they had never belonged to Alex in the first place. Just like that long ago embryo that she'd asked the doctor to remove from her body, this life was not meant to be a permanent fixture in Alex's everyday existence. Birthdays, holidays, and family gatherings would be their only interaction in the future and, realizing this, Alex felt suddenly deflated and very alone, though she sat in the middle of the crowd of family. She sat bereft, seeking any distraction to take her mind off of this new revelation - and Bobby's image appeared in her mind so she asked if someone would call and let him know that she was okay.

He had been worried for the last few weeks, she knew – worried and also waiting eagerly for it to be all over and for her to return to work. He wasn't happy with his temporary partner, an up and coming young detective named Lynn Bishop, and he wanted Alex back – needed her back, in truth. He relied on her to keep him on track and to offer a different perspective from his own and Alex had discovered during her leave that, by the same token, she needed him too. They balanced each other, they made each other laugh, and – as an added bonus - returning to work and Bobby might just be the thing to keep her mind off the loneliness that was creeping over her.

Or so she had thought.

When he'd appeared in her doorway at the hospital, the loneliness didn't automatically dissipate the way she had expected it to – the way she'd hoped it would. His burly form didn't fill the room quite the way she'd hoped and even the desperate expression on his face that displayed his care and concern didn't do the trick. This turn of events had taken her by surprise because she had been counting on him to step in and fill all of the gaps – only it turned out that there were more gaps than there had been before the baby had come.

She'd almost lost it then – almost let the pain and emptiness take over and reduce her to the cowering, weeping mass that she so deeply wanted to become. The desire to do so was great but she realized that she couldn't do that to Bobby. She couldn't promise her forthcoming return to him only to make it a lie at the last second and yank herself away to swim in her own self-pity. Their relationship didn't work that way.

So, summoning up the decisiveness that served her so well on the job, she'd used her last ounce of strength to push all of her feelings aside and lock them away. She'd laughed at all the right times and nodded at all the right times and in the past year the act has become natural for her – until tonight.

Tonight the act is unraveling and the scariest part for Alex is that she doesn't think she cares.


	4. Bobby

_BOBBY_

He doesn't know where to begin and even that wonderful phrase from _Alice in Wonderland_ - "Begin at the beginning and when you get to the end, stop" – doesn't help here. After all, where is the beginning? Is the beginning one year and nine months ago when Alex started off on this journey that's brought her to where they now are? Or does it begin before that, with a bundle of cells that some say are too insignificant to be called a life?

Bobby doesn't know the details of his partner's abortion – it wouldn't, after all, be something he would inquire about in polite (or even impolite) conversation. He simply knows that she had one and that, given it all to do over again, she'd make the same choice because she stands firmly by her decision as the right one for her to make at the time. That's Alex – tough as nails and absolutely unyielding once she makes her mind up about something.

And yet what did that decision cost her? Not in time, or money, or physical well being, but in general? What part of herself did she lose with that bundle of cells and how does it compare to what she gave up for her sister's new baby?

Bobby has more questions than answers – a rare circumstance for him - and yet instead of asking her anything, somehow his mouth begins to form words that tell her what's been on his mind as the anniversary of Delivery Day crept closer.

"You know, I was thinking today about the last case I worked with Bishop while you were on leave."

Her brows knit in confusion but also with polite interest and she says, "The one with the computer games?"

He gives a small nod and continues aimlessly with his story, not really sure where he's going, but somehow finding the words springing to his lips with ease as he stares straight ahead, avoiding her eyes and temporarily lost in the memory. "When we started, we thought we were investigating the murder of a woman involved in a ring of credit card fraud. When we dug a little deeper, we traced everything back to an online video game and its designers, Jack and Neil… They were friends and…"

He brings his right hand up towards his mouth the way he does when he's turning a thought over in his head, running the knuckles over his lips as he leaves the last sentence unfinished and picks up a new thread. "I thought I was getting somewhere and…" He trails off for a moment, then starts up again: "Croyden…"

"Croyden?" Alex interrupts. She looks a bit concerned. "Bobby, Croyden's dead."

"I know," he meets her gaze briefly. "It was a guy just like him – behind on his child support, ignoring his wife and kids…"

"Oh," is all she says and, just as he knew that she would, he can see she understands. Without his telling her, she knows exactly how he behaved and how far over the line he stepped. She knows because she's been there with him before. Their history is in her "oh" and she doesn't have to say any more.

Bobby gives a rueful half-smile. "It took me a minute to see the similarities in the two cases."

"Only a minute?" she repeats, eyebrows raised in a clear indication that she knows a lie when she hears it. She is not judging, but she won't let him circumvent the truth either.

"You would have seen it right away," he looks down at the floor again, knuckles resuming their absent pacing against his mouth.

He hesitates before telling her the next part, not knowing how much to reveal. He doesn't feel comfortable telling her that by the time she'd given birth he'd already gone through more emotions towards her than he owned pairs of socks. He'd experienced everything from frustration at her absence and the stifling presence of Detective Bishop, anger at the fact that Alex had seemingly abandoned him, jealousy that she had something she considered bigger and more important than anything else – him included - pride that she was willing to take such a huge leap of faith, overwhelming guilt at being angry with her in the first place, and all possible shades of gray in between. And yet his emotions are as much a part of the story as those that motivated Neil Colby, the murderer in the story he's begun to tell. In fact, for a few moments while conducting the investigation, he'd even found himself empathizing with the man. He'd understood the anger and desperation and, while he isn't sure if he could have stooped to murder, he too had needed an outlet for his feelings. A paper wad hurled at Alex's empty chair had served well enough in a split second of weakness, but had he been out of the office, Bobby isn't sure what might have happened.

While he's wrestling with his thoughts, however, words take shape on his tongue, negotiating smoothly past his indecision and falling into the air between he and his partner. Still staring in the direction of the coffee table, he says: "I looked at Bishop and I got it. She agreed that we should go after this guy - she thought we were on the right track."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Alex's eyebrows raise in question and turns to face her. "And that's when I realized… I realized she wasn't you."

"Thank you – I think," Alex tries to lighten the moment with a bit of sarcasm and he can tell he's verbally crossed some invisible line between them, the line that divides their spoken and unspoken feelings and their working and personal lives. Tonight, however, it seems somehow all right – appropriate even – and despite her uncomfortable response, Bobby can tell that Alex doesn't mind. She even seems flattered.

He gives her a small smile and shakes his head. "Once I saw that, I understood every pathological emotion Neil had acted on. He was… desperate. He missed his partner – he missed what they'd had and he wanted it back. Jack was the only audience he worried about pleasing, the only opinion he'd ever trusted. Without him, Neil felt… lost. Vulnerable." His voice has grown much softer now and he's resumed looking at the coffee table, knuckles resting against his bottom lip but no longer moving.

"I understood the case then because I understood him. I understood the desperation of yearning for something you've lost and you fear you'll never get back."

He finishes with a whoosh of air from his chest and is afraid to look at her for a moment, afraid that he's said too much in his leap over that unspoken boundary in their relationship that keeps them categorized safely under the title "friends from work." He is therefore stunned when he peeks nervously at her from the corner of his eye and sees that silent tears are running down her face and she's making no effort to stop them.

"Eames?" he asks softly – very softly.

"It hurts, Bobby," she manages to say. "It hurts so much…"

The questions all spring back into his mind now – all still without answers – and yet somehow his body knows how to silence them. His mind holds him back briefly, protesting against the unfamiliar act he is preparing to perform, but his hesitation is swept carelessly aside as he slides across the couch and gathers her into his arms.


	5. Alex

_ALEX_

She's blubbering like a little girl and she can't bring herself to care. With his usual deft touch, her partner hit the nail on the head – even though in this instance it seems like he didn't fully intend to.

_I understood the desperation of yearning for something you've lost and you fear you'll never get back._

She understands too. She's felt that way for a year – desperate and yearning for something she can't even put into words. Does she wish that her sister's child was her own? No. Her sister is a wonderful mother and that little baby definitely belongs to her. Does she wish that she hadn't had that way-back-when abortion and that she had raised the child that would have grown from that cluster of cells? No. She still stands by her decision and doesn't want that either. In fact, the longer she dwells on it, the more she comes to realize that she's confused because what she _does_ want is that very same thing that millions of other women want but that she thought she had moved beyond desiring.

She wants children, wants a family. In short, Alex wants to one day live the much-cliched American dream. After losing her husband in the line of duty, she'd thought that it was best to put aside that hope, that her work was meant to be her life, and that she didn't need two point five children and an SUV to feel complete. But the act of giving birth, the process of being pregnant and bringing a new life into the world, revealed the truth: she wants it all. She wants a husband and children and even a minivan if need be – yet she's already lost her husband, the baby that long-ago cluster of cells would have formed and - now that circumstances have turned out the way they have - she fears that she's lost her chance at that dream along with them.

It is this feeling of hopelessness that brings on the wave of tears, that causes her to put aside her teacup and bury her face in her hands while her normally undemonstrative partner hastens to her side and pulls her close. He rests his chin on top of her head and rocks her slowly while shushing her softly with incoherent words, comforting gestures that bring to her mind how much they have been through together and yet how much still lies unspoken between them. In all the time they have worked together, in all of the dangerous situations they've been in when one or both of them have nearly been or injured, Alex realizes that this has never happened. Bobby has never caught her this way, never held her close until her shaking subsided – most likely because she's never let him. On the job, she's all business and she doesn't want special treatment. Bobby knows this and acts accordingly. On the job, they're just two detectives solving crimes.

Tonight, however, they're two friends and, while she doesn't really want special treatment, she doesn't want Bobby to ever let go either.

You've become a walking contradiction tonight, Eames, chides her inner voice. _Can't you make up your mind how you're feeling?_

But she feels too much. It's too overwhelming to pick out one feeling and go with it and she suddenly remembers that she's been faced with such a predicament before – twice, in fact. When her husband was killed, she went through the exact same emotional upheaval, the same swirling feelings that she never could verbalize. And when she returned home from her abortion, she spent the next week in bed, knowing that she made the right choice and yet wondering how the right choice could feel so wrong.

And it's that swirling mass of feelings inside her that let's her know she's in mourning again - not for a person this time, but for a life she fears she may never have. Who would have thought that by giving a new life to her sister, she would find herself mourning her own?

Tonight, irony is not Alex's friend. Thankfully, Bobby Goren is.


	6. Bobby

_BOBBY_

He hasn't asked any questions tonight and yet somehow he thinks he's answered them anyway. He worried all the way over to her apartment that he wouldn't be able to pick up the pieces, that his presence would be ineffective and only complicate things, but holding his partner while she cries and feeling her tears soak the front of his shirt, he knows he made the right decision. She wasn't looking for answers tonight – she was looking for absolution, for deliverance – and somehow his simple gesture of friendship has been enough. It's an interesting idea for his ever-cycling brain to wrap itself around, this notion that he doesn't always have to provide all of the answers to all of the questions. It's even more mind-boggling to realize that sometimes he doesn't even have to know the questions in order to answer them.

So how far would Bobby go to keep his partnership with Alex intact? Tonight, all that's required is for him to hold her while she cries – will tomorrow bring a greater challenge? If so, how will Bobby handle it? Neil Colby stooped to murder to fix his – would Bobby do the same if he thought he was in danger of losing Alex? He isn't sure. All he knows is that he understands why Neil took the action that he did and, in the meantime, he hopes that the other questions never present themselves.

Tonight, it's hard to believe that they ever will.

"Bobby?" Alex's voice suddenly breaks the rhythm of her sobs and he can't help but be startled at how small and brittle it sounds. He isn't used to it – but then, he isn't used to holding onto her while she cries on his shoulder either. The Alex Eames he is familiar with doesn't show a lot of emotion – a good trait to have in their line of work – and yet this Alex seems ultimately more human and even a bit more real. Tonight she has fallen off the pedestal he tends to keep her on, but somehow it only makes him care about her more.

"Hm?" is his soft response.

She pulls back just far enough to look him in the eye. "Thanks for coming tonight."

"You're welcome," he replies truthfully.

"And Bobby?" she adds when her head comes back to rest on his shoulder.

"Hm?" he repeats.

"You're not like Neil Colby," she tells him. "You understood him, but you're not anything like him. Remember that, okay?"

"Yeah," is all he can manage, stunned once more by her unfailing ability to read his thoughts. She knew what was running through his mind without him telling her. She understands the depths to which he fell in her absence and she has pulled him back yet again.

Wordlessly, he holds her a little tighter and silence wraps itself comfortably around them like an afghan. There is nothing more to say. Tonight – the first anniversary of Delivery Day – Alex and Bobby have delivered each other.

_FIN_


End file.
